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THE 



CAPTAIN'S STORY. 



BY 

MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND. 

i ■■ 

{" XARIFFA.") 









J 1874 

PHILADELPHIA: ...-,-.— -^ 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

1874. 



76 3»M 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by 

MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



Lippincott's Pi* ess, 
Philadelphia. 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 



'nr^HE day was hot, and we sat in the tent, — 

Above us a Hve-oak's branches bent, 
And wild birds warbled their innocent loves 
In the odorous depths of orange-groves. 

No fold in the flag at the door was stirred; 
It hung in the heat like some bright, dead bird, 
And the air was so still, you could hear the tramp 
Of the pacing sentry all over the camp. 

It seems, sometimes, that I yet can hear 
The cardinal-bird whistle loud and clear, 

3 



4 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

And the shrill, brief note of the nonpareil, 
From behind the gum-tree's mossy veil, 

And the startling buzz of the dragon-flies, 
And the bold cicada's sudden cries, 
And the rush by some sinuous serpent made, 
'Neath the rank palmetto's jagged shade. 

While the palpitant lizard climbs the seams 
Of our shining tent in the hot sunbeams ; 
And the jest and laugh go from mouth to mouth 
In our idle camp there away down South. 

'Twas our Colonel's tent, and some of us boys* 
Were playing that day at euchre ; 

With a deal of good-natured soldierly noise, 
Winning or losing our lucre. 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 5 

The Colonel looked on — he never played, 

But sometimes beguiled an hour 
By watching the cut of heart or spade, 

Or sudden turn of a ''bower." 

About this man a mystery hung, — 

His history's hidden links 
Were as hard to read as riddles that sprung 

Of old from the Theban sphinx. 

Reserved and cold he was called by some. 

Though ever the warm abettor 
Of right, — but he ne'er named friends or home, 
■ And never received a letter. 

At the first call of our startled land 
He joined us Illinois Yanks, 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

And rose to his present high command 
Out of the heart of the ranks. 

A braver rider ne'er held a rein, 

A bolder ne'er wore a spur; 
Yet, for a comrade wrung with pain, 

No touch could be tenderer. 

His hand was soft as a gentle girl's. 
His smile had a rare, sweet grace. 

And a shining mass of soft black curls 
Framed in his pale dark face. 

And straight he was as an Indian's arrow, 
And lithe as an Indian's bow; 

And not a thought of his soul was narrow 
For either a friend or a foe. 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 



E'er first and foremost in the fight 



His tall form rose afar, 
Like one transfigured by the might 
And majesty of war! 

His brave, black eyes like scimitars 
I've seen flash out in battle. 

And blaze like God-ignited stars, — 
Amid the roar and rattle 

Of falling shot and bursting shell. 
The war-cloud's leaden rain. 

And all the mimicry of hell 
That paints the battle-plain. 

But, though he farthest rode of all. 
And dared what i^^N would dare, 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

He passed unscathed by blade, or ball, 
Or shot, or shell, or snare, 

As though he bore a charmed life, 
This man who claimed no tie, 

No friend, no sweetheart, child or wife. 
To mourn him should he die. 

Well educated, brave, well-bred. 
Handsome, high-toned, and young, 

Speaking four languages, 'twas said. 
Besides his mother-tongue ; 

This our Colonel, Gustave Dupre, 

So nonchalantly bent 
Above our game of cards that day. 

Within his sentried tent; 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. g 

When, on the sod we heard a foot 
Crush down the verdure vernal, — 

A corporal with brief salute 

Said, " Some one to see you, Colonel." 

We all looked up, — paused in our game, — 
There in the tent door's peaked frame 
A dusky Vv'oman, straight and tall, 
Stood smiling down upon us all. 

She was a stranger, — whence she came 
None of us knew, — none knew her name ; 
But age and weakness, sex and port. 
Appealed to every soldier's heart. 

" Come in, auntie," our Colonel said, 
" The sun beats hot upon your head. 



lO THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

Here is a seat. No, boys ; don't go, — 
Be sure her mission all may know." 

We boys sat where our game had stopped, 
Our cards upon the table dropped : 
Indifferent, careless, indolent. 
We watched the stranger in the tent. 

Erect, and with attentive glance, 
Half question, and half nonchalance, 
With folded arms across his breast, 
The Colonel stood beside his guest. 

She took the seat, and straightened down 
The folds in her blue cotton gown ; 
And re-arranged, with wrinkled hands. 
Her gingham turban's brilliant bands ; 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. n 

Then felt the pins, with nervous quest, 
That held the kerchief across her breast, 
And drew her tired feet, soiled and bare, 
From sight beneath the low camp-chair. 

Her faded face was swart, not black. 
And marred by many a trouble-track. 
For Care, the toiler, o'er her brow 
Had driven a sharp incisive plow, 
Whose cruel furrows, deep and murk. 
Told he'd not idled at his work. 

Within her cheeks twin hollows lay. 
Wrecks of a beauty passed away. 
The ruined dimple, the stranded blush, 
Wont in its savage youth to rush 
From cheek to brow, unchecked, untamed, 



12 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

Unclouded, joyous, and unshamed. 

Now lay there dead, forgot, unnamed. 

Whilst ashen tints of grief and gloom, 

With which Time paints out all the bloom, 

All brightness, freshness, youth, and grace, 

At last from every woman's face, 

Lay, sombring aught that had been fair 

Of rounded grace or color there. 

Yet in her dark and liquid eye 

Still shone that solemn depth of power 

To suffer dumbly, patiently, 

W^hich is a woman's special dower. 

This majesty of self subdued. 

The lowly creature's brow imbued 

With something of a Christian grace 

That had become a lovelier face. 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 13 



She spoke, — with glance and mien abject, 
A-nd in the common dialect 
That marked the plain plantation " hands," 
Well known in cane and cotton lands. 
Rude were her words, but sweet her tone. 
As any high-born dame would own, 
And oft some quaint old Creole phrase. 
Or gentle speech of gentler days, 
The curious listener could detect 
Mixed with her negro dialect. 

**Scuse me, Gunnel, I troubles you, shore. 
But dear young massa, Ise ole and pore; 
An' de quiver of life, once full of years, 
Holds nuffin now but a few salt tears. 
A little more toil up life's rough road, 
Den dese ole shoulders '11 drop dere load. 



14 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 



Ise come, as it's been my habit to come 
Wherever Ise heerd a Yankee drum, 
To ax if to your knowledge dere's been, 
Froo out de ranks of de Lincum men, 
A boy of mine. He went to de Norf 
When my ole massa, bress us, was worf 
Sich heaps of Ian' an' cane an' money, 
As neber, I specs, }'ou dreamed of, honey. 
Dis boy of mine, he was strong an' peart, 
An't 'peared to me he couldn't be sceart 
By eber a look, or a word, or a sound : 
Not even de bay of de fierce bloodhound. 
Mars' Cunnel, I missed dat boy of mine 
Froo de moonlight nights an' de hot sunshine, 
An' my heart was neber dat weighted down 
It couldn't take him dar all my own. 
An' feel dar was food an' light an' rest 
In holdin' dat little one close to my breast." 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 15 

She paused, and wiped with homely grace 
The hot tears from her troubled face. 

Said the Colonel, "When did he go away?" 

She answered, " I can't now 'zactly say, — 

Dat is, jes de year, vio pas coiinais ; 

But, near as I now kin recolleck. 

He'd jes about turned seven, I 'speck. 

I couldn't read, an' he couldn't write. 

An' Ise laid awake a many a night 

A prayin' an' prayin' unto de Lord 

Dat chile of mine would on'y sen' word 

Where he was gone to, or where he was gwine; 

But, bress you, dar neber cum word nor line; 

An' eber sence dis yere war broke out. 

It's seemed to me, if I tried, I mought 

Diskiver a clue to dat chile of mine 

From some one 'noder from 'cross de line. 



l6 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

Kase brave as he was, when de war begun, 
'Twas in him to jine it de fustest one. 
So Ise sarched an' sarched under ebery rag 
Dat Ise seen afloat of de Lincum flag, 
A hopin' an' hopin' dese pore ole eyes 
Mought see him jes once afore dey dies, 
Dat dese ole arms mought hold him yet, 
Afore de comin' of life's sunset, 
An' my heart keeps longin' to find his lub. 
Just as de wild beast longs for her cub." 

" Why did he leave you ?" the Colonel said, 
"Sold? lost or run away instead?" 

The old mulattress dropped her face, 
With the humble air of her humbled race. 
" Sold ? no ! lost ? no, nor run'd away, — 
'Deed, sah ! he neber dun went astray 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 



n 



Out of his own free will an' accord, 

Nor evil-mindedness, bress de Lord! 

No, no. Mars' Gunnel, my boy was good, 

I wants dat ar well understood ; 

His heart was noble, — he loved me true, 

An' many's de time, 'twixt me an' you, 

I knows he's longed for dese lovin' arms 

Dat sheltered him once from dis world's harms; 

But, you see, Mars' Gunnel, 'twasn't all right. 

My boy was handsome, an' smart, an' — white ! 

'* Massa was rich, dere w^as pride in my heart, — 
I begged my boy mought be given a start, 
An' not be hand an' foot tied down, 
A white-skinned slave to a white man's frown. 
I was younger den, an' purty, d^y say; 
Well, anyhow, I had my own way, 

2* 



1 8 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

An' de boy was sent from de ole plantation 
Somewhere up Norf for an edication. 

" For days arter dat I moped roun' de place, 
An' cried if a chile looked up in my face ; 
An' I sot on de banks of de old bayou : 
A mournin' an' mournin' de long nights froo ; 
For I couldn't somehow set my heart to rights, 
An' it an' me had some awful fights. 

*' I couldn't help wishin' my young one back. 
For a mother's a mother, sah, white or black; 
But, I had my work, an' a busy hand 
'Twixt a troubled heart an' its grief will stand. 
An' I learned to say, * It's all for de best ; 
He'll come back some day, de Lord be bressed.' 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. ig 



" But year arter year came de cotton, an' de cane, 

But dat boy of mine cum'd neber again ! 

Den ole massa died, an' I was alone, 

An' into de hands of strangers thrown, 

An', somehow, I lost, when dey laid massa low, 

Ebery trace of dat chile I longed for so ! 

" Den at las' cum de signs of dis yere war, 

An' you Lincum soldiers here, where you are; 

An' I was sot free, an' I made up my mind 

Dat, livin' or dyin', my boy I'd find; 

An' I 'spect Ise done walked a hundred mile, 

Barefooted, a tryin' to fine dat chile ! 

Now, Gunnel, dat's why I ask your consent 

To jes look along froo your regiment, 

An' see if 'mongst your men I can't fine 

Dat growed-up pickaninny of mine." 



20 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

The Colonel had heard her rambling talk, 

Leaving- his place now and then to walk, 

As was his wont, up and down the tent, 

With folded arms and brow down-bent. 

Now, as she paused to dry a tear, 

" Good woman," he said, " no such man here. 

If I know aught of my regiment ; 

But, look for yourself, you have my consent," 

" I wants to look for myself," she said ; 
" I neber shall believe dat boy is dead 
Till my poor body has toted my soul 
Out of de reach of dis world's control." 

*' Nay, nay ! with you let us hope not dead," 
With kindly gesture, the Colonel said ; 
" But think for a moment what time has done 
In the changing years to change your son. 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 21 

Just think what a man he now must be, 
How stalwart and bearded, — it seems to me 
The changes that surely have taken place 
Would leave him a stranger before your face." 

" Not know my chile !" the negress said, 

For the first time lifting her lowly head; 

" Not know my boy, wheresomeber he be, 

If good or wicked, or bond or free ? 

Not know dat boy, de son dat I bore ? 

Oh, Mars' Gunnel, you's jestin' shore ! 

Why, de stars will drop, an' de moon be spiled. 

When a mother's done forgot her child ! 

If my boy's livin' he's twenty-nine. 

An' straight as de Lou'siana pine; 

An' he ain't got much of my cussed race 

Writ out, thank God ! on his brave young face. 



22 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

Then he has marks !" she said, looking up : 
** His ear was bit by a terrier pup, 
An' de leastest piece of it tore away, ■ 
An' I knows he carries dat mark to-day ! 
Den a sailor man, from some furrin land, 
Pricked on the back of my boy's right hand, 
In right smart style, two letters blue, 
And said dey'd alius be good as new. 
De letters stood for his name, you see. 
An' he told me to 'member 'em, G and D." 

Suddenly pale our Colonel stood. 
As if some horror had bleached his blood, 
Whilst every one of us seemed to feel 
His own breast pierced with red-hot steel ; 
For there, on our Colonel's slim right hand, 
Bright and clear was the livid brand, — 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 23 

Bright and clear for us all to see, 
The fatal characters, G and D ! 



Then came the dawn of a wild surprise 
Into the woman's dilated eyes. 
A swift change" over her features swept, 
A sudden flush to her forehead leapt, — 
And then, great God ! shall I e'er forget ? 
One hand on the Colonel's epaulette. 
Whilst with the other the clustering hair 
She quickly pushed from the small left ear. 
And there in the delicate flesh was seen 
The mark where the terrier's teeth had been. 

Burst from her lips one appalling shriek ! 
She glared at the Colonel, but did not speak. 
Just like a tigress we'd seen her spring 
Up at his breast ; now, a drooping thing. 



24 THE 'CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

Haggard and helpless, we saw her cling 
To the shuddering form she seemed to sting, 
By the slight touch of her dark hand there, 
Into a figure of mute despair. 

Like some one suddenly stricken dumb, 

With heart, and veins, and pulses numb, 

All life, all sense a frozen flood. 

For one brief space our Colonel stood. 

But now the strength came back to his grasp ; 

He caught her throat in a cruel clasp; 

The tender pity that lately shed 

Its gentle light on his face had fled, 

And a stern white horror lay there instead. 

"Unhand me, woman!" he cried, in tones 
Less like words than torturing groans; 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 



25 



"You lie! oh,- fiend ! this is false as hell! 
Take back the lie you have dared to tell 
In this damned part you have played so well. 
Take it back, — I'll throttle you else, — I say!" 
She only answered, " Gustave Dupre!" 

From side to side I saw him swerve, 
As if each syllable struck a nerve. 
Down from her throat his white hand sunk; 
He reeled like one death-struck or drunk. 
Upon his forehead's pallid hue 
Drops of agony stood like dew. 
With sudden frenzy and reckless touch 
He tore himself from the woman's clutch, 
And then again, with stern command, 
He hoarsely bade her beside him stand. 
3 



26 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

" You gentlemen," he said, " have heard 
This woman's words, nor stood aloof 
Whilst she arrayed each damning proof 
Of her strange claim. My soul is stirred 
To madness. What have ye believed? 
I burn to know myself deceived ! 
To wake, shake off this fearful dream, 
This horrid plot, this hellish scheme. 
I cannot judge, — I cannot think, — 
I totter on the awful brink 
Of horrors that accumulate 
Around this dark, undreamed-of fate. 
Judge ye for me ; though I do swear, 
For yonder woman standing there 
No heart-throb, instinct, new-born ties 
Of kindred feeling in me rise 
Responsive to this loathsome claim 
That fain would link me to her shame ! 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

Look at us both, — here as we stand. 
Forget this mark, this odious brand ! 
For God's sake, men, breathe out no lie. 
Withhold no truth, nor aught deny, — 
Say, if in cheek, or lip, or brow, 
Here as we stand before you now, 
A single trait alike you see 
Betwixt this woman here and me. 
Nay, shrink not, flinch not, nor delay; 
I do command! do you obey!" 

What need to stammer out replies ? 
He read our answers in our eyes. 
Unlike, yet like, there stood the two, 
Resemblance growing on our view, 
As, both dismayed and both undone. 
They stood, life's golden glow all gone, 



27 



28 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

Together, and yet so alone, 

The stricken mother and her son ! 

He spoke : his voice fell cold and clear 

Upon each strained, attentive ear. 

" Soldiers, enough ! In every face 

I read conviction of disgrace. 

Are ye my friends? Then each must know 

The cruel blight of this foul blow. 

Are ye my foes ? then each and all 

Have in the horror of my fall 

Their vengeance found, their triumph won, 

To see me here disgraced, undone, 

Polluted, shamed, a thing to shun, 

A negro mother's bastard son ! 

''Here, with my hand upon my sword, 
I give you my untarnished word, 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

I knew naught of my birth or name 

That shadowed me with taint or shame. 

I swear this, and my word is white, 

Thank God, however in your sight 

Polkited be the blood that chains 

My soul to these degraded veins. 

I had ambition, health, and youth. 

But no suspicion of the truth. 

The mystery that about me hung 

No one unraveled, and I clung 

To it in idle hours perchance, 

And dreamed some tender, bright romance 

In coming time might be unrolled, 

With my name 'midst its honors scrolled. 

Therefore I vowed to make that name 

One that the noblest blood mig;ht claim 



29 



30 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 



To write iiporx the blazoned page 

Of an unsullied heritage. 

From some unknown, mysterious hand 

Gold flowed to aid each aim I planned, — 

How hard I toiled, and what I won. 

It boots not now to any one." 

Then spake the woman, o'er whose face 
Conflicting thoughts had seemed to chase,- 
As oft, in summer, on the plain. 
Shadows chase shadows o'er the grain. 
Her eyes, from which the tears had gushed 
When first conviction o'er her rushed. 
Now glittered steady, bright, and dry, 
Though wet was every soldier's eye. 
Upon her dusky cheeks a spot 
Of glowing red burned fierce and hot. 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 



31 



While on her lips, firm, cold, compressed, 
A subtle meaning stood confessed. 



" Massa," she said, and every word 

Burned to the brain of him who heard, — 

" Mars' Gunnel, Ise gwine to go away. 

I don't want you to rue de day 

When fust I cum yer, a pore ole tramp, 

Disturbin' de peace of dis yer camp. 

Somehow or 'noder Ise made a mistake : 

Folks will sometimes when de heart's fit to break. 

'Scuse me, — Ise giv' you a heap of bother: 

Ole people's stupid somehow or 'nother. 

But, Mars' Gunnel, and ebery one. 

Better folks dan me dis war's undone, 

An' whar I cum from dey tink it's dazed 

My pore ole brain, and dey say Ise crazed. 



32 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

** Ise gwine away right now, — Ise tired, — 

It isn't much to which Ise 'spired, — 

I jes thought if I could fine my boy, 

Den hfe would shet wid a sudden joy. 

Ise pleased myself for many a year 

Tinkin' how, as a man, dat boy 'd appear ; 

An' many a pang has my heart forsook 

When I thought jes how de chile mus' look. 

How tall he'd growed, and how pleased he'd be 

When I foun' him out, an' he know'd 'twas me! 

But, Mars Gunnel, it's plain an' clear. 

If I sarched foreber he'd not be here. 

I don't see any but what would be 

Ten tousand times too good for me, — 

So smart an' peart, brave an' upright, 

An' honored too, an' all so white ! 

Ise gwine on huntin' dat boy of mine, 

Froo de moonlight nights an' de hot sunshme. 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 33 



A rockin' my grief by de ole bayou, 

And nussin' de dream dat neber comes true, 

Dat yet I'll fine him once agen. 

In de God-blest ranks of de Lincum men. 

Whar de gray moss swings on de pecan-tree 

Dere's a cabin yet, an' a place for me 

To rest in, when, a tired ole rover, 

I knows dat de hunt for dat chile is over. 

Jes for a minute, — ah, mon Dieu ! 

Gunnel — your face, — but 'twTisn't true! 

No, — not wid de proud an' great an' brave 

Gould rank de son of de pore ole slave. 

" Massa ! Ise gwine, — Ise slow to go, — 
But den Ise ole an' tired, you know, 
Don't mine dese tears dat my face has wet, 
A mother's a mother, an' can't forget, 



34 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 



Though her skin be brack as de day unborn, 
De baby dat once on her heart was worn. 
Gunnel, good-by. Oh, let my lips 
Lay jes once 'gin your finger-tips, 
Jes one kiss dar, — one, soft and sly, 
Unknownst to any one — good-by ! 
Ise gwine right now, — of course you see, 
Your hand — dose letters was nuffin to me. 

My boy's — name — wasn't Oh, my God !" 

Gasping, smiling, down to the sod. 
At the very feet of our Colonel brave, 
Slowly sank down the poor old slave. 

Strong with a strength we had failed to know, 
Felled where none of us felt a blow, 
Great in that grand unselfish pride 
Which heroes and martyrs hath glorified. 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 35 

Prone she sank at our Colonel's side : 
And as she fell, her fading eyes 
Turned with one yearning, pleading gaze, 
Mingled yet with a glad surprise. 
Up to the Colonel's haggard face; 
Then fell away with that mute endeavor 
The dying make to give up forever 
All that they hold of dearest worth, 
Or sacred value upon the earth, 
And turned to us; as, in the tent. 
Saddened and shocked, we o'er her bent. 
And searching our faces, one by one, 
Whispered, " Your Cunnel is not my son !" 
With these brief words, all glorified . 
Her features grew, — once, twice, she sighed. 
Lifted her hands, and spread them o'er 
Her dusky face, and spoke no more. . 



36 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

" Send for the surgeon !" the Colonel said ; 
On his own knee he pillowed her head. 

The surgeon came. On the swarthy breast 

Slightly his practiced hand he pressed, 

Then, with a shake of his sturdy head, 

" Boys," he muttered, " this woman is dead ! 

Send for a stretcher, — how came she here? 

Anything now must serve for a bier. 

There's news afloat : the enemy lie 

Strongly entrenched, it is said, hard by. 

But of course you know it ; there's work ahead 

Better make haste and bury your dead." 

Then with a laugh, and a soldier's jest, 

Unaware of what sore oppressed 

Every heart that around him beat, 

He turned away with* hurrying feet; 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 37 



Calling back as he passed from sight, 



Hot work for us all before midnight." 



Responsive to the careless word 

So lightly said, so keenly heard, 

Swept through our veins that martial fire 

Which every soldier doth inspire. 

We half forgot what late had been 

In picturing the coming scene ; 

And each man's hand was on his sword. 

And each man's foot turned toward the door, 

When one imploring earnest word 

Caused every one to halt once more. 

The Colonel stood beside the dead. 
His own cloak o'er the form was spread, 
4 



38 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

And o'er his head seemed to have passed 
Years, since we looked upon him last. 

" My men !" he said, " this doomed hand 
Bears, in its blue and livid brand, 
The vile insignia of disgrace 
That marked my mother's lowly race. 
Nay ! do not take its cruel stain 
Within your honest grasp again ! 
You will ? then let it e'en be so." 
And, as we gave him one by one 
The clasp he would but could not shun, 
* There came a soft and tender glow 
Across the pallor of his cheek. 
Which spoke, as never words could speak, 
How precious unto him had been 
The good-will of his fellow-men. 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 



39 



" Great God ! a father does his worst 

Who leaves his son a blood accursed !" 

At last he said ; *' ah, worse than chains 

The burden of defiled veins ! 

But of this thing enough. We hear 

Impending battle drawing near. 

You know, ere now, what fights I've shared, 

You know what dangers I have dared. 

You know if e'er a craven led 

Where comrades fell and comrades bled. 

You know, if e'er where foes were met. 

This hand or sabre faltered yet ! 

Remembering this, if for this fight 

I do renounce all rank or right, — 

You will forgive ? you will not blame 

Nor whisper coivard with my name ? 

Soldiers ! I cannot forth again, — 

What good fate held for me has been ; 



40 THE CAPTAIN'S STORY 



My star has sunk, my day is sped. 

I will not follow where L led ! 

Nor will I meet the signs of scorn 

Sure in some comrade to be born, 

Who looks for honor or disgrace 

Only in records of one's race. 

These smitten hands resign all claim 

To future glory, — future fame. 

Where is the lip to name the good 

Found in a white man's negro blood ? 

Here, with this last grasp of my hand, 

I yield forever my command. 

Forth to the fight, and fare ye well ! 

My future, be it heaven or hell. 

Can make, can mar, not yours — adieu ! 

Unto your country be ye true !" 

With these last words, a gleam of steel 

Met our stark eyes, — we saw him reel, — 



THE, CAPTAIN'S STORY. 41 

Toward him rushed his aim to thwart. 
Too late ! his own sword kissed his heart ; 
And pale and dead before us lay 
Our gallant Colonel — Gustave Dupre. 



THE BATHER. 



TT ZARM from her waist her girdle she un- 
wound, 
And cast it down on the insensate turf: 
Then copse and cove and deep-secluded vale 
She scrutinized with keen though timid eyes, 
And stood with ear intent to catch each stir 
Of leaf, or twig, or bird-wing rustling there. 
Her startled heart beat quicker even to hear 
The wild bee woo the blossom with a hymn, 
Or hidden insect break its lance of sound 
Against the obdurate silence. Then she smiled, 
42 



THE BATHER. 



43 



At her own fears amused, and knew herself 

God's own image by that hidden pool. 

Then from its bonds her wondrous hair she 

loosed, 
Hair glittering like spun glass, and bright as 

though 
Shot full of golden arrows. Down below 
Her supple waist the soft and shimmering coils 
Rolled in their bright abundance, goldener 
Than was the golden wonder Jason sought. 

Her fair hands then, like white doves in a net, 
A moment fluttered 'mid the shining threads, 
As with a dexterous touch she higher laid 
The gleaming tresses on her shapely head. 
Beyond the reach of rudely amorous waves. 
Then from her throat her light robe she un- 
clasped, 



44 



THE BATHER. 



And dropped it downward with a blush that rose 
The higher as the garment lower fell. 

Then she cast off the sandals from her feet, 
And paused upon the brink of that blue lake : 
A sight too fair for either gods or men ; 
An Eve untempted in her Paradise. 

The waters into which her young eyes looked 
Gave back her image with so true a truth, 
She blushed to look, but blushing looked again, 
As maidens to their mirrors oft return 
With bashful boldness once again to gaze 
Upon the crystal page that renders back 
Themselves unto themselves, until their eyes 
Confess their love for their own loveliness. 



THE BATHER. 



45 



Her rounded cheeks, in each of which had grown, 
With sudden blossoming, a fresh red rose, 
She hid an instant in her dimpled hands, 
Then met her pink palms up above her head, 
And whelmed her white shape in the welcoming 
wave. 

Around each lithesome limb the waters twined, 

And with their lucent raiment robed her form ; 

And, as her hesitating bosom sunk 

To the caresses of bev/ildered waves. 

They foamy pearls from their own foreheads gave 

For her fair brow, and showered in her hair 

The evanescent diamonds of the deep. 

Thus dallying with the circumfluent tide, 
Her loveliness half hidden, half revealed, 
An Undine with a soul : she plunged and rose, 



46 THE BATHER. 

Whilst the white graces of her rounded arms 
She braided with the blue of wandering waves, 
And saw the shoulders of the billows yield 
Before the even strokes of her small hands, 
And laughed to see, and held her crimson mouth 
Above the crest of each advancing surge 
Like a red blossom pendent o'er a pool, — 
Till, done with the invigorating play, 
Once more she gained the bank, and once again 
Saw her twin image in the waters born. 

From the translucent wave each beauty grew 
To strange perfection. Never statue wrought 
By cunning art to fullness of all grace. 
And kissed to life by love, could fairer seem 
Than she who stood upon that grassy slope 
So fresh, so human, so immaculate ! 



THE BATHER. 



47 



Out from the dusky cloisters of the wood 
The nun-Hke winds stole with a saintly step, 
And dried the bright drops from her panting form, 
As she with hurried hands once more let down 
The golden drapery of her glorious hair, 
That fell about her like some royal cloak 
Dropped from the sunset's rare and radiant loom. 





THE 



CAPTAIN'S STORY. 



BY 

MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND. 

("XARIFFA.") 



P H I L A D E L P H I A : 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

1874- 



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